Europe and the bright American Girl.
"How does she do it?"
That is what the European girl wants to know. The American girl! She
comes over here, and, as a British matron, reduced to slang by force of
indignation, once exclaimed to me: "You'd think the whole blessed show
belonged to her." The European girl is hampered by her relatives. She
has to account for her father: to explain away, if possible, her
grandfather. The American girl sweeps them aside:
"Don't you worry about them," she says to the Lord Chamberlain. "It's
awfully good of you, but don't you fuss yourself. I'm looking after my
old people. That's my department. What I want you to do is just to
listen to what I am saying and then hustle around. I can fill up your
time all right by myself."
Her father may be a soap-boiler, her grandmother may have gone out
charing.
"That's all right," she says to her Ambassador: "They're not coming. You
just take my card and tell the King that when he's got a few minutes to
spare I'll be pleased to see him."
And the extraordinary thing is that, a day or two afterwards, the
invitation arrives.
A modern writer has said that "I'm Murrican" is the _Civis Romanus sum_
of the present-day woman's world. The late King of Saxony, did, I
believe, on one occasion make a feeble protest at being asked to receive
the daughter of a retail bootmaker. The young lady, nonplussed for the
moment, telegraphed to her father in Detroit. The answer came back next
morning: "Can't call it selling--practically giving them away. See
Advertisement." The lady was presented as the daughter of an eminent
philanthropist.
It is due to her to admit that, taking her as a class, the American girl
is a distinct gain to European Society. Her influence is against
convention and in favour of simplicity. One of her greatest charms, in
the eyes of the European man, is that she listens to him. I cannot say
whether it does her any good. Maybe she does not remember it all, but
while you are talking she does give you her attention. The English woman
does not always. She greets you pleasantly enough:
"I've so often wanted to meet you," she says, "must you really go?"
It strikes you as sudden: you had no intention of going for hours. But
the hint is too plain to be ignored. You are preparing to agree that you
really must when, looking round, you gather that the last remark was not
addressed to you, but to another gentleman who is shaking hands with her:
"Now, perhaps we shall be able to talk for five minutes," she says. "I've
so often wanted to say that I shall never forgive you. You have been
simply horrid."
Again you are confused, until you jump to the conclusion that the latter
portion of the speech is probably intended for quite another party with
whom, at the moment, her back towards you, she is engaged in a whispered
conversation. When he is gone she turns again to you. But the varied
expressions that pass across her face while you are discussing with her
the disadvantages of Protection, bewilder you. When, explaining your own
difficulty in arriving at a conclusion, you remark that Great Britain is
an island, she roguishly shakes her head. It is not that she has
forgotten her geography, it is that she is conducting a conversation by
signs with a lady at the other end of the room. When you observe that
the working classes must be fed, she smiles archly while murmuring:
"Oh, do you really think so?"
You are about to say something strong on the subject of dumping.
Apparently she has disappeared. You find that she is reaching round
behind you to tap a new arrival with her fan.
She has the Art of Listening.
Now, the American girl looks at you, and just listens to you with her
eyes fixed on you all the time. You gather that, as far as she is
concerned, the rest of the company are passing shadows. She wants to
hear what you have to say about Bi-metallism: her trouble is lest she may
miss a word of it. From a talk with an American girl one comes away with
the conviction that one is a brilliant conversationalist, who can hold a
charming woman spell-bound. This may not be good for one: but while it
lasts, the sensation is pleasant.
Even the American girl cannot, on all occasions, sweep from her path the
cobwebs of old-world etiquette. Two American ladies told me a sad tale
of things that had happened to them not long ago in Dresden. An officer
of rank and standing invited them to breakfast with him on the ice. Dames
and nobles of the _plus haut ton_ would be there. It is a social
function that occurs every Sunday morning in Dresden during the skating
season. The great lake in the Grosser Garten is covered with all sorts
and conditions of people. Prince and commoner circle and recircle round
one another. But they do not mix. The girls were pleased. They secured
the services of an elderly lady, the widow of an analytical chemist:
unfortunately, she could not skate. They wrapped her up and put her in a
sledge. While they were in the _garde robe_ putting on their skates, a
German gentleman came up and bowed to them.
He was a nice young man of prepossessing appearance and amiable manners.
They could not call to mind his name, but remembered having met him,
somewhere, and on more than one occasion. The American girl is always
sociable: they bowed and smiled, and said it was a fine day. He replied
with volubility, and helped them down on to the ice. He was really most
attentive. They saw their friend, the officer of noble family, and, with
the assistance of the German gentleman, skated towards him. He glided
past them. They thought that maybe he did not know enough to stop, so
they turned and skated after him. They chased him three times round the
pond and then, feeling tired, eased up and took counsel together.
"I'm sure he must have seen us," said the younger girl. "What does he
mean by it?"
"Well, I have not come down here to play forfeits," said the other,
"added to which I want my breakfast. You wait here a minute, I'll go and
have it out with him."
He was standing only a dozen yards away. Alone, though not a good
performer on the ice, she contrived to cover half the distance dividing
them. The officer, perceiving her, came to her assistance and greeted
her with effusion.
The Republican Idea in practice.
"Oh," said the lady, who was feeling indignant, "I thought maybe you had
left your glasses at home."
"I am sorry," said the officer, "but it is impossible."
"What's impossible?" demanded the lady.
"That I can be seen speaking to you," declared the officer, "while you
are in company with that--that person."
"What person?" She thought maybe he was alluding to the lady in the
sledge. The chaperon was not showy, but, what is better, she was good.
And, anyhow, it was the best the girls had been able to do. So far as
they were concerned, they had no use for a chaperon. The idea had been a
thoughtful concession to European prejudice.
"The person in knickerbockers," explained the officer.
"Oh, _that_," exclaimed the lady, relieved: "he just came up and made
himself agreeable while we were putting on our skates. We have met him
somewhere, but I can't exactly fix him for the moment."
"You have met him possibly at Wiesman's, in the Pragerstrasse: he is one
of the attendants there," said the officer.
The American girl is Republican in her ideas, but she draws the line at
hairdressers. In theory it is absurd: the hairdresser is a man and a
brother: but we are none of us logical all the way. It made her mad, the
thought that she had been seen by all Dresden Society skating with a
hairdresser.
"Well," she said, "I do call that impudence. Why, they wouldn't do that
even in Chicago."
And she returned to where the hairdresser was illustrating to her friend
the Dutch roll, determined to explain to him, as politely as possible,
that although the free and enlightened Westerner has abolished social
distinctions, he has not yet abolished them to that extent.
Had he been a commonplace German hairdresser he would have understood
English, and all might have been easy. But to the "classy" German
hairdresser, English is not so necessary, and the American ladies had
reached, as regards their German, only the "improving" stage. In her
excitement she confused the subjunctive and the imperative, and told him
that he "might" go. He had no wish to go; he assured them--so they
gathered--that his intention was to devote the morning to their service.
He must have been a stupid man, but it is a type occasionally
encountered. Two pretty women had greeted his advances with apparent
delight. They were Americans, and the American girl was notoriously
unconventional. He knew himself to be a good-looking young fellow. It
did not occur to him that in expressing willingness to dispense with his
attendance they could be in earnest.
There was nothing for it, so it seemed to the girls, but to request the
assistance of the officer, who continued to skate round and round them at
a distance of about ten yards. So again the elder young lady, seizing
her opportunity, made appeal.
What the Soldier dared not do.
"I cannot," persisted the officer, who, having been looking forward to a
morning with two of the prettiest girls in Dresden, was also feeling mad.
"I dare not be seen speaking to a hairdresser. You must get rid of him."
"But we can't," said the girl. "We do not know enough German, and he
can't, or he won't, understand us. For goodness sake come and help us.
We'll be spending the whole morning with him if you don't."
The German officer said he was desolate. Steps would be taken--later in
the week--the result of which would probably be to render that young
hairdresser prematurely bald. But, meanwhile, beyond skating round and
round them, for which they did not even feel they wanted to thank him,
the German officer could do nothing for them. They tried being rude to
the hairdresser: he mistook it for American _chic_. They tried joining
hands and running away from him, but they were not good skaters, and he
thought they were trying to show him the cake walk. They both fell down
and hurt themselves, and it is difficult to be angry with a man, even a
hairdresser, when he is doing his best to pick you up and comfort you.
The chaperon was worse than useless. She was very old. She had been
promised her breakfast, but saw no signs of it. She could not speak
German; and remembered somewhat late in the day that two young ladies had
no business to accept breakfast at the hands of German officers: and, if
they did, at least they might see that they got it. She appeared to be
willing to talk about decadence of modern manners to almost any extent,
but the subject of the hairdresser, and how to get rid of him, only bored
her.
Their first stroke of luck occurred when the hairdresser, showing them
the "dropped three," fell down and temporarily stunned himself. It was
not kind of them, but they were desperate. They flew for the bank just
anyhow, and, scrambling over the grass, gained the restaurant. The
officer, overtaking them at the door, led them to the table that had been
reserved for them, then hastened back to hunt for the chaperon. The
girls thought their trouble was over. Had they glanced behind them their
joy would have been shorter-lived than even was the case. The
hairdresser had recovered consciousness in time to see them waddling over
the grass. He thought they were running to fetch him brandy. When the
officer returned with the chaperon he found the hairdresser sitting
opposite to them, explaining that he really was not hurt, and suggesting
that, as they were there, perhaps they would like something to eat and
drink.
The girls made one last frantic appeal to the man of buckram and
pipeclay, but the etiquette of the Saxon Army was inexorable. It
transpired that he might kill the hairdresser, but nothing else: he must
not speak to him--not even explain to the poor devil why it was that he
was being killed.
Her path of Usefulness.
It did not seem quite worth it. They had some sandwiches and coffee at
the hairdresser's expense, and went home in a cab: while the chaperon had
breakfast with the officer of noble family.
The American girl has succeeded in freeing European social intercourse
from many of its hide-bound conventions. There is still much work for
her to do. But I have faith in her.